


Axis

by Bluejay141519



Series: Little Wing [1]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Gen, Hurt!Clay, Unreliable Narrator, aren't we all, but hey, everythings confusing, worried team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: Clay needs to stay awake longer, because every time he blinks, he's somewhere else. And he doesn't know if he's awake or asleep, or if the team is coming for him, of if they even know he's alive. He doesn't know anything really.Clay gets kidnapped. It goes pretty horrible, but he can't remember most of it anyway.





	Axis

**Author's Note:**

> *whispers* I'm backkkkkkk ;)

_ Well she's walking _

_ through the clouds _

_ With a circus mind _

_ that's running round _

_ Butterflies and zebras _

_ And moonbeams _

_ And fairy tales _

_ That's all she ever thinks about _

_ Riding with the wind _

 

\-----------------------

“Grenade!”

 

“Clay  _ move _ !”

 

....

 

Clay blinks and he’s staring a scratchy black bag. His hands are tied behind his back, his shoulders hurt and his wrists burn. Occasionally light filters through the bag, dim and faint. His head pounds, his throat aches, and he’s so, so tired.

 

They were driving. They are? They are. Driving. Somewhere. That was okay. He’d been in worse before. 

 

Idly, he wonders if he’s still in SERE.

 

He shifts his hands, and there’s some movement next to him and-

 

......

 

Clay blinks and there’s a man in front of him. He looks mean. Something was wrong with one his eyes, it was all cloudy and creepy looking.

 

His wrists really hurt now. He’s sitting up, tied to a chair. Maybe. It’s possible none of this is real, given the hazy, dreamlike edges everything has.

 

The man is speaking. Clay can hear him, but he can’t understand him. He’s still so tired. The man smiles. He holds up a needle.

 

“You will talk.” The words are distorted, and not just with accent. “Don’t you worry.”

 

There’s a prick in his arm and-

 

......

 

Clay blinks and he’s underwater. His chest hurts really bad, and he opens his mouth to inhale on instinct. Water floods his lungs, and the ache eases.

 

Then he’s pulled back, and there was cold air around him. Instinct again demands he cough the water back out, which is painful. He inhales, musty air making his eyes water. It stings his throat and makes him dizzy. There’s a tub, and dirty walls, and then he’s underwater again.

 

He coughs, inhales and-

 

.....

 

Clay blinks and he’s in a basement. His entire body throbs, he feels like he can’t breath, and his hands are behind him again. He’s on fire, too hot, hot enough to be freezing cold in the dark cellar. 

 

His stomach churns, and he wants to get sick, but there’s tape over his mouth and if he throws up now, he’ll drown for real. Although before it felt like he was drowning for real. Was that before? Or was it after?

 

What’s going on?

 

He takes a deep breath and-

 

.......

 

Clay blinks and there’s yelling. Loud yells of Zulu, a few of Farsi, but the Farsi sounded weirdly distorted, like it wasn’t from a native speakers mouth. Guns are going off - AKs, and standard SEAL long guns, M4A1’s - and there are hands on his arms, and his feet must be moving because the ground beneath him was blurring fast really fast. 

 

The black fabric is back over his head. Somewhere an engine starts. He’s pushed and lands on his side, on something hard and definitely not ground. 

 

His head smacks the hard thing and-

 

.....

 

Clay blinks and Hayes is staring down at him. He looks almost...worried. 

 

That was weird. Jason was never worried. Or scared. Or any of the emotions that was on his face right now.

 

He’s talking? No. Yelling. At someone who wasn’t him. He hopes. Clay tried to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t know why he had to, and he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he knows that’s true. He didn’t say anything, although he doesn’t know what he would say. Or to who.

 

Where was he again?

 

Jason looks worried again. It’s so weird, because he’s in full gear, and yet Clays still mostly bound, hands behind his back, tape over his mouth. They’re moving again, and that’s bad. Or maybe it good. Well, maybe it’s supposed to be good, but right now it’s bad, because Clay really thinks he might throw up this time. And the tapes still over his mouth.

 

This, at least, is wrong.

 

There’s more loud gun fire. Jason is yelling, then he’s grabbing Clay under the arms, and lays him down (he was sitting up?). He turn, gets to one knee, and raises his gun, firing off an insane amount of rounds. 

 

The van shot around a corner, making his head hit something hard again, and-

.....

 

Clay blinks and he’s throwing up. They’re still in the van, it must be a van, given how big it is, but now Sonny is with him along with Hayes. He’s got one hand on Jason's shoulder, shooting out a broken side window, and the Master Chief is crouched over Clay, holding him on his side.

 

The shooting stops, as does his retching. Jason rolls him back over and puts two fingers to his throat. 

 

He yells something to Ray, and-

 

......

 

Clay blinks and he’s on the C130 they took out. There’s a needle in his arm. His thoughts are...better than they were but still moving at a snails pace through the sticky sludge that might be his brain.

 

Ray, Sonny, and Jason are all around him, in varying degrees of wakefulness (Sonny being passed out in a hammock, Ray in his own hammock reading, and Hayes sitting on a crate right next to him, head bowed) and everyone abnormally close to him.

 

“Well.” Clay breathes, and Jason’s head snaps up. 

 

“Fuck.”

 

\--------

_ End Part One. _

**Author's Note:**

> Part two will be from the rest of the teams POV. In case you wanna know where the insp came from, google the title, then series name. It ain't mine, Jimi, it ain't mine.


End file.
